[fic] Wondering
Fic for youzens, 'cause I feel like I've been neglecting my readers. If I have any. Anyway, hockey fic, y'all. I found this on my compy and was like, "WTF? I haven't posted this? Huh? Oh well. I'll post it today! Yay!"
Title: Wonder
Author: creepy_crawly
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13
Player (Team)/Pairing: Kari Lehtonen, previous KariIlya, wished-about KariAndy
Warnings: Hockey. Slash. Mopey goalie wanting his teammate.
Summary: I still watch, and I still wonder.
In the darkness of one thousand halls, I watch you. You shine, the only star in a rapidly-darkening night sky, a diamond in a box of marbles, the king among the peasants. Your laughter rings through the room, making me flinch and tremble.
In the darkness, Ilya’s hands are soft on my bare skin. »Relax,« he whispers softly, rubbing my shoulders with those strong hands, speaking in a language I barely remember. »Relax, little one.«
I lean into his touch, not looking up to meet his worried eyes. Ilya is a worrier by nature, whether it be about games or teammates or lovers or friends.
Or people who are some odd combination of the last three.
»You worry too much,« I murmur, smiling up at him. It’s a fake smile, sickly-sweet like the taste of those fake grape candies you eat all the time. They stain your lips purple, and your tongue also. I spend my days wondering what you taste like, coated in the sugary fakeness of unnatural grapes.
»You do not think enough,« Ilya retorts, massaging my back. »I worry about you, because I do not think you can keep yourself out of trouble.«
»I could,« I protest limply, melting beneath his warm touch. Ilya always has known exactly how to touch me, whether he is trying to relax me or get me lost in the throes of passion. He is a genius off the ice as much as he is on it, and takes advantage of the fact that he is brilliant. He can read me like an open book, and I am helpless to stop him.
»You could,« he agrees, »if you wanted to. Which I do not think you do.«
I blink, twisting my neck to stare up at him, letting him distract me from you. My looks plainly demands an answer of him.
He smiles at me, that same sad smile he gave me when we admitted that maybe we were better friends than lovers, and that while the sex was mindblowing, the arguing was, too, and we’d rather not hate each other. It’s the same sad smile I gave him when I admitted that maybe I did watch you, maybe I did think about you, maybe you were the only thing ever on my mind anymore.
»You like danger, love,« he whispers, still working out the kinks in my spine. »You like danger and chaos and risk. You flirt with it constantly. Then again, you’re a goalie, so that’s almost expected. Still…I worry about you.«
»Why?« I ask, lying back down. His hands on my back are comforting, easing the pain of sore muscles.
»Because,« he answers simply, »you do not always think of how dangerous that chaos really is. I do not want to see you hurt.«
We both look up as you enter the room, laughing and joking with Jon, towel around your hips. You pause and turn that spotlight-bright smile at us.
“Hey, guys. ‘Sup?”
I roll my eyes at your affected Amercanism, despite the fact that my heart is racing beneath my chest.
“Nothing,” Ilya responds, digging into the knot at the base of my spine. “Just making sure everyone’s favourite problem child doesn’t get stuck in one position forever.”
Turning my head slightly, I stick my tongue out at him. I’d kick him if I weren’t so limp right now, a calm lassitude weighting me down.
You laugh. “That would be a tragedy,” you murmur, grinning down at me. “Whatever would we do if we broke you?”
I yawn slightly, the exhaustion of the day slowly working its way into my brain. “Suffer greatly,” I manage. “I’d send my fangirls after you.”
“And they can be scary, can’t they?” you ask, laughing as you pull off your towel.
I nearly gasp. Your back is to me, and so the simple motion reveals your ass, smooth and perfect. Ilya, above me, just raises an eyebrow, muttering something under his breath about “pale white asses”. What he doesn’t get is that I’m just as pale as you, and much as I love the contrast of his hands on my hips, the smooth (imagined) blend of your creamy skin against my own is enough to drive me crazy.
You dance a little as you change, singing something under your breath. I watch you, breath pinned in my chest with every single movement. I love watching you, watching as you move, as you sit still and think, as you talk, as you live. I often wonder what secrets hide behind your glittering face, what dirty little skeletons live in your closet.
Are you like other men? Do you think of men when you have sex with your wife? Do you sneak sidelong glances at everyone else’s cocks in the showers and locker rooms? Did you ever wonder if you were gay? Do you ever think about it now? Do you ever think about me the way I think about you?
What do your lips taste like? What does your mouth feel like? Are your hands soft and gentle, or can you be harsh and controlling?
As you stand up from tying your shoes, shooting a smile at all of us before sauntering out the door, I swallow a disappointed groan. Behind me, Ilya smiles sadly and rubs my shoulders with a comforting hand. Across the way, Garnett points a finger at his head like a gun and pretends to shoot himself, sharing my bittersweet expression. I’m not the only one who lives for your every smile.
No, I’m not the only one, not by a long shot. There’s Garnett, too, and half a million little girls who think you hung the stars and the moon.
But your smile is only for one person, and we know we’ll never be able to compete with Natalie.
But we still watch, and I still wonder.
Title: Wonder
Author: creepy_crawly
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13
Player (Team)/Pairing: Kari Lehtonen, previous KariIlya, wished-about KariAndy
Warnings: Hockey. Slash. Mopey goalie wanting his teammate.
Summary: I still watch, and I still wonder.
In the darkness of one thousand halls, I watch you. You shine, the only star in a rapidly-darkening night sky, a diamond in a box of marbles, the king among the peasants. Your laughter rings through the room, making me flinch and tremble.
In the darkness, Ilya’s hands are soft on my bare skin. »Relax,« he whispers softly, rubbing my shoulders with those strong hands, speaking in a language I barely remember. »Relax, little one.«
I lean into his touch, not looking up to meet his worried eyes. Ilya is a worrier by nature, whether it be about games or teammates or lovers or friends.
Or people who are some odd combination of the last three.
»You worry too much,« I murmur, smiling up at him. It’s a fake smile, sickly-sweet like the taste of those fake grape candies you eat all the time. They stain your lips purple, and your tongue also. I spend my days wondering what you taste like, coated in the sugary fakeness of unnatural grapes.
»You do not think enough,« Ilya retorts, massaging my back. »I worry about you, because I do not think you can keep yourself out of trouble.«
»I could,« I protest limply, melting beneath his warm touch. Ilya always has known exactly how to touch me, whether he is trying to relax me or get me lost in the throes of passion. He is a genius off the ice as much as he is on it, and takes advantage of the fact that he is brilliant. He can read me like an open book, and I am helpless to stop him.
»You could,« he agrees, »if you wanted to. Which I do not think you do.«
I blink, twisting my neck to stare up at him, letting him distract me from you. My looks plainly demands an answer of him.
He smiles at me, that same sad smile he gave me when we admitted that maybe we were better friends than lovers, and that while the sex was mindblowing, the arguing was, too, and we’d rather not hate each other. It’s the same sad smile I gave him when I admitted that maybe I did watch you, maybe I did think about you, maybe you were the only thing ever on my mind anymore.
»You like danger, love,« he whispers, still working out the kinks in my spine. »You like danger and chaos and risk. You flirt with it constantly. Then again, you’re a goalie, so that’s almost expected. Still…I worry about you.«
»Why?« I ask, lying back down. His hands on my back are comforting, easing the pain of sore muscles.
»Because,« he answers simply, »you do not always think of how dangerous that chaos really is. I do not want to see you hurt.«
We both look up as you enter the room, laughing and joking with Jon, towel around your hips. You pause and turn that spotlight-bright smile at us.
“Hey, guys. ‘Sup?”
I roll my eyes at your affected Amercanism, despite the fact that my heart is racing beneath my chest.
“Nothing,” Ilya responds, digging into the knot at the base of my spine. “Just making sure everyone’s favourite problem child doesn’t get stuck in one position forever.”
Turning my head slightly, I stick my tongue out at him. I’d kick him if I weren’t so limp right now, a calm lassitude weighting me down.
You laugh. “That would be a tragedy,” you murmur, grinning down at me. “Whatever would we do if we broke you?”
I yawn slightly, the exhaustion of the day slowly working its way into my brain. “Suffer greatly,” I manage. “I’d send my fangirls after you.”
“And they can be scary, can’t they?” you ask, laughing as you pull off your towel.
I nearly gasp. Your back is to me, and so the simple motion reveals your ass, smooth and perfect. Ilya, above me, just raises an eyebrow, muttering something under his breath about “pale white asses”. What he doesn’t get is that I’m just as pale as you, and much as I love the contrast of his hands on my hips, the smooth (imagined) blend of your creamy skin against my own is enough to drive me crazy.
You dance a little as you change, singing something under your breath. I watch you, breath pinned in my chest with every single movement. I love watching you, watching as you move, as you sit still and think, as you talk, as you live. I often wonder what secrets hide behind your glittering face, what dirty little skeletons live in your closet.
Are you like other men? Do you think of men when you have sex with your wife? Do you sneak sidelong glances at everyone else’s cocks in the showers and locker rooms? Did you ever wonder if you were gay? Do you ever think about it now? Do you ever think about me the way I think about you?
What do your lips taste like? What does your mouth feel like? Are your hands soft and gentle, or can you be harsh and controlling?
As you stand up from tying your shoes, shooting a smile at all of us before sauntering out the door, I swallow a disappointed groan. Behind me, Ilya smiles sadly and rubs my shoulders with a comforting hand. Across the way, Garnett points a finger at his head like a gun and pretends to shoot himself, sharing my bittersweet expression. I’m not the only one who lives for your every smile.
No, I’m not the only one, not by a long shot. There’s Garnett, too, and half a million little girls who think you hung the stars and the moon.
But your smile is only for one person, and we know we’ll never be able to compete with Natalie.
But we still watch, and I still wonder.